


Subject EH

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Implied Character Death, Implied Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earl is interrogated in a very creative way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subject EH

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VidenteFernandez](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=VidenteFernandez).



> This is a story based on a prompt from the blog of the always-fabulous Vidente Fernandez (videntefernandez.tumblr.com). Thank you!

**Excerpt from: Project Radio Silence, Subject EH, Interrogation Log #6.**  
 _Subject is a 35-year-old Caucasian male, in good physical condition, retrieved from [REDACTED]. Has intimate knowledge of project objective CGP. Previous interrogation techniques have proven unsuccessful in eliciting useful intelligence. Questioning will continue along parameters outlined in flowsheet 81-omega._  
 _T. Williamson, Interrogator Level IV._

Earl groaned and shifted in the tiny box that served as his cell. He had enough room to curl into a ball or crouch a bit, but not much else. It was dark, it was noisy, and it was hot. 

He grinned. It wasn't much, but it was home...

He felt blood slowly ooze out of the cuts that striped his body, felt the skin crackle over recent burns. He closed his eyes and forced his muscles to relax. Utilizing NVBS Target Hardening/Mental Grounding Technique "Aardwolf", he cast his mind back to the events that brought him to his current predicament. 

There had been the Eternal Scout ceremony. The ceremony, and what had come just before. He still wasn't sure that hadn't been a mistake, but all the same, he was glad he'd said what he had. He hoped Cecil would think about those last few moments, at least sometimes.

He felt himself drifting and forced himself back to the task at hand. Facts. Externalities. 

There had been the ceremony, and then the mute children, dragging him, dragging him into... 

Into nothing. There'd been... nothing.

And then there had been something.

That something had first been a pulling sensation, then hard fingers gripping his biceps, bruising. Then blurry figures that slowly resolved into humans in Hazmat suits. Then the room, and the knives, and the electrical current, and the sensation of drowning, and the box. 

And the questions.

Questions about Cecil. Questions that he would never, ever answer. Questions about Cecil's past, about his fears, about things Cecil probably didn't even remember. Questions about his abilities and the limits of those abilities. Dangerous questions. Earl would never talk.

It was maybe the final act of love he'd ever be able to give to him. Sure, Cecil would probably never know about it, but how would that be different from the last 30 years or so? He'd loved him since Kindergarten, and Cecil had been oblivious to his affection all that time, so...

He was heading down that singularly unfortifying path when the door to the cell screeched open with the sound of metallic claws on a metallic chalkboard and gloved hands again pulled him into a glaringly white room.

Earl shook his legs, forcing blood back into his numb, tingling feet. His eyes burned in the bright light. His muscles ached, and he tensed his thighs, willing his knees not to buckle. It wouldn't do to show a sign of physical weakness, not at this stage of the game.

More Hazmat-suited goons grabbed him by the shoulders and elbows and forced him over to a leather chair, then strapped down his arms, legs, and head. Earl stared up into the buzzing fluorescent lights and waited for the pain to start. 

Nothing happened. 

Nothing happened except for the click and hum of a PA system being switched on. Moments later, in beautiful, pristine, high-fidelity stereophonic sound, a moan filled the air. Earl felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 

The moan went on for an uncomfortably long time, only to be replaced by words spoken in a beloved voice, though that voice was strained and breathless.

"Oh please, Masters of Us All, please, please..."

 _Cecil._ Those bastards had Cecil, and they were torturing him somewhere in this godforsaken place. He flexed his muscles, testing the bonds. He'd rescue Cecil, or die in the attempt. 

Cecil's voice had died off again, replaced by harsh breathing, then a sharp yelp. Earl began to work his right hand out of the cuff, metal biting into his wrist.

"Mmmmmmooooooooohhhh... Unh... Oh, oh, yes..."

Earl stilled. Wait. He knew those sounds well. Very well. He'd been the cause of those sounds on more than one glorious occasion. They weren't the sounds of pain.

"Oooh, **fuck**. Carlossssss..."

Earl's teeth gritted, and everything -- his exile, his captivity, his torture, all of it -- was swept under in a tide of rage. Carlos had no right. He had no right. Sweeping into town like a perfectly-coiffed scirocco, blowing away any vestiges of hope that he and Cecil might -- At the same time, he felt himself harden, responding to the raw lust in Cecil's voice.

"Mmmm, yeah, so good so good so good..."

*click*

Cecil's gasps and mewls were cut off, replaced after a moment by a calm, perfectly modulated male voice.

"Quite the screamer, isn't he? Absolutely lovely if you like that sort of thing. And you _do_ like that sort of thing, don't you, Mr. Harlan?"

The click again, and again the room echoed with animal grunts and groans. The next time the man spoke, he dipped the volume on Cecil and simply spoke over the noises.

"Do you miss hearing that? Of course you do. Too bad that _interloper_ forced his way into town and took your place, isn't it?"

The volume came up again.

"Oh, Carlos, Carlos, Carlos."

A second voice. "Mmmm, Cecil..."

The volume went down. 

"But, Mr. Harlan, it doesn't have to be like that. Cecil could be yours, just like you always hoped..."

"Shut up," Earl growled.

The unseen man ignored him. "We know you want him, we know you love him. He'd be so much better off with you than with some outsider, anyway. You really understand him. Why not do yourself and Cecil a favor? We have ways of getting rid of that meddling scientist. We have ways of ensuring that you get what you deserve -- what you've deserved all along. So I'd advise you not to be hasty. Listen a bit longer, would you? This could be you, and not that lab-coated ninny."

And up went the volume. The voices echoed through the room, rising and falling together. For a moment, Earl could imagine it _was_ him. He pictured Cecil lying on top of him, or underneath him, or beside him, face contorted in ecstasy, lips bruised from kissing, eyes full of stars. He could smell him, taste him in the very air. It was the strangest sensation, blazing hatred above the waist, blazing lust below. Yes, he would do this. Yes, he'd do it for himself. He'd do it for Cecil. He clenched his hands into fists and drew in a breath, ready to spill it all as the sounds of forced exhalations and slapping flesh reached a fever pitch.

"Ah, ah! Cecil, Cecil, mi amor, mi corazon, mi vida!" Carlos' words gasped through the speakers, breaking Earl's trance.

"Carlos! Oh, sweet Carlos! Unh, mmmmm, ahhhammmmmmmooooo... Ah!" Then there was silence and the sound of slowing breaths, until Carlos' voice, fuzzy and lazy now, floated across Earl's ears. 

"I love you, Ceese."

"I love you too, Carlos. I'm so happy... I never knew I could love someone so much..." Cecil's voice hitched. 

Earl's heart broke. Cecil would never love him, not like that.

Earl's resolve mended. He would always love Cecil, exactly like that. 

He cleared his throat in the sudden, ear-ringing silence. "Okay, okay, I have something to say."

"Excellent, Mr. Harlan. We're ready to hear what you have for us."

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment, grounding himself. Then he spoke in a clear, ringing voice.

"On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to Night Vale and to my country, and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight. In other words, I am Scout Master Earl Harlan of the Night Vale Troop, and you can go straight to hell."

The lights in the room snapped off, plunging the room into darkness. 

"Take him back to the box," said the disembodied voice. 

In the gloom, Earl smiled. 

**Excerpt from: Project Radio Silence, Interrogation Log #6.**  
 _Final results: Total failure. Interrogator Level IV Williamson sent for permanent re-education._  
 _B. Montana, Interrogator Level V_

**Addendum: Subject Harlan has proven himself to be recalcitrant, and thereby, redundant. Exterminate the brute.**  
 **D. Strex, CEO**

**Author's Note:**

> Curious to see how things could have gone differently? Check out my story "The Things We Do for Love" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1195683). Also, if you like this and wanna help me gush over Night Vale and other assorted geekery, check out my Tumblr at punkrockgaia.tumblr.com.


End file.
